another
half-hour would see the last of the poor little _Esmeralda_. Our main
trysail happened to be a nearly new sail, bent for the first time when
starting on this voyage; it was made of good stout canvas, and was
beautifully cut. I therefore determined to attempt the experiment of
setting it, though I scarcely hoped it would endure the tremendous
strain to which it would be exposed long enough to drag us clear of that
terrible point. Mustering the hands, therefore, we got the sheet aft
and the block hooked on to the eye-bolt; then, all hands tailing on to
the fall, the lower brails were eased gently away, the sheet being
dragged upon at the same time; and in this way we managed to get the
foot of the sail extended without splitting it. The hauling out of the
head was a much simpler matter; and in less than five minutes I had the
satisfaction of seeing the entire sail extended without having parted a
thread. The effect of this added canvas was tremendous; the lee rail
was completely buried, and the deck was now so steeply inclined that
during the lee rolls it was impossible to maintain one's footing without
holding on to something. But we no longer sagged to leeward as before;
the ship now held her luff, and the threatening headland was brought to
bear nearly three points on our lee bow; if the trysail would only hold
out long enough we might yet hope to scrape clear. But would it?
Involuntarily I held my breath every time that the ship rolled to
windward; for then the strain on canvas and spar and rigging was at its
heaviest, and it really seemed to me as though nothing made by mortal
hands could withstand it. Minute after minute passed, however, and
still the good sail stood, while hope every moment grew stronger within
my breast.

We had reached to within half a mile of the point, and I was already
congratulating myself upon the certainty that we should clear it, when I
happened to catch a momentary glimpse, through the driving spray, of
something peculiar in the appearance of the water just off the point.
Surely it could not be--fate would not be so cruel--and yet--

"Breakers on the lee bow!" simultaneously reported the two men on the
lookout.

Then I was _not_ mistaken; it _was_ broken water I had seen. Yes; there
could not be a doubt about it, for while I strained my gaze in an effort
to pierce the darkness a ghostly white gleam shot into the air, such as
is caused by the water breaking heavily upon